


Augmented Religion

by AceDhampir



Category: Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, The Wire
Genre: Multi, Post Mankind Divided, Priest AU, Priest Kink, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceDhampir/pseuds/AceDhampir
Summary: Sent undercover to gain the trust of Detroit's Augmented gangs to find a terrorist, Jensen is sent in as a priest along with "Brother" Francis. But when Jensen gets too caught up in the role, it might be hard to convince him to leave the one place that's made him happy within the last four years.Editing provided by Casie-Mod!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm actually writing an original multi part fic? WOW. I'll continue this if there's any interest!

The church seems so still at night. It’s been a while since bodies occupied it’s spaces with late night vigils and prayer, creating a quiet atmosphere as the only light is a low lit chandelier. The sound of a vacuum in one of the back rooms is muffled by sound proofing delicately placed around the wood near the altar. The new father has brought life back into this church, a younger man just on the cusp of middle age at thirty eight, his age showing on his face despite the facial augmentations designed to shield his face. Less than the augmentations, however, are the scars on his face. There have been many guesses as to what might have happened to him- some assume he was a veteran, others believe he used to be in one of the gangs still centered around the city.

 

But beyond that, he is kind and welcoming, walking as though no sin can touch him. His raspy voice is almost calming, so much so that his low rumble during a sermon seems to entrance people instead of bore them, making him almost an asset to keep the place alive.

 

At least, so Sister Gloria thinks. 

 

Tonight he’s lighting candles, honoring an in house vigil for a young man killed just a few blocks down. Even with all the progress David Sarif attempted to pump into this place, none of it seems to be enough. A final candle is lit and the father stands back to admire his work, pleased with the placements around the altar and more than happy with the steel plates to catch the wax. After scrapping the old wax off the floors that littered the stone steps for ages, it’s clear he just wants everything to stay nice. She can admire his passion, even if his own apartment is still littered with empty cereal boxes and packages from Prague.

 

“What do you think?” He turns to look at her, the light from the candles shining off his artificial eyes and giving them a low, golden glow.

 

“It’s beautiful. You have an eye for decoration,” she smiles his way, glad to see her little compliment was enough to make his mouth twitch upwards.

 

“I guess you have to, otherwise, what’s the point? I just hope the dishes will be enough to keep the wax from staining the floors again,” he makes his way to where one is resting on a window sill and dips his black polycarbonate finger into it. “Mm. Should feel hotter…”

 

“Father Walthers-”

 

“Adam is fine, sister.”

 

“...Father Adam,” old habits die hard. “How...does it feel? Being here like...that,” she gestures vaguely to his exposed hands. “All that metal...They forced you to designate the church to augmented only. Does that bother you?”

 

Her question gets a pause. Adam eyes his hands, twisting it this way and that to hear the metal whirr as he glances over his near perfect replacements.

 

“No. Not really. The segregation doesn’t bother me, even if this wasn’t something I wanted,” his hand falls. “If it’s God’s plan...Then so be it.”

 

That makes her fall silent. She’s scared, and Jensen can understand why, being in this place with a killing machine, especially  one she doesn’t know has to be a little scary. Watching him be so serene, calling on his faith...she has to admire him. At least he isn’t one of those crazed augmented cultists.

 

“Your faith is admirable.”

 

_ If only she knew… _ Jensen eyes her a moment, then gets back to work. 

 

“I have to ask...I know it’s none of my business, father but...How did you get them?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You augmentations. I’ve seen them. They’re so...so…”

 

Jensen eyes her a moment as if sizing her up just to see if she’s worth him telling her his story. He adjusts another wax plate, then sighs.

 

“An accident. I was shot,” some kind of accident. Jensen taps the right side of his skull where a scar has healed over. “Right here. Somehow made it alive. David Sarif intervened and… It took months to feel normal. Years, actually, until I could look at myself again. Even after the aug incident, it took so long for me to even look in the mirror. And that’s when I found His Word,” a little fabrication won’t hurt, he thinks. He watches her wrinkled face as it softens, clearly falling for his sob story with little argument. After all, why would a priest lie? “And here I am.”

 

“What did you do before?”

 

“I was a cop. A long time ago,” Jensen’s lies are carefully crafted, apparently fabricated off the top of his head. Even if he didn’t have the C.A.S.I.E, he would have still be able to fool her just with that raspy gentle voice and his charm, so he thinks. “It didn’t work out. I feel maybe it was too...violent.”

 

“The Incident…”

 

“Mmm,” he’s busy now rearranging bibles on the back of the pew. “I didn’t kill anyone. But it still made me feel like a monster. Most do, you know. That’s why they should be welcome here. Despite what Sister Gertrude thinks.”

“Sister Gertrude is a bit of a prick,” the words fly out of Gloria’s mouth, and with a soft gasp she quickly covers her mouth and watches Jensen with wide eyes. The most her augmented priest does is give her a light snort, then waves her off. 

 

“I didn’t hear anything,” he gives her a playful wink, and immediately she drops her hands, free of the fear that Adam Walthers might rat her out to God Above. The idea almost makes him snort twice. “Come, sister, we need to finish. Company soon.”

 

“Ah, about that, the tithe box-”

 

“It’s a vigil. If they want to donate, they can come to my office,” his office is littered like his apartment, only occupied by his computer and a few boxes, as well as a broken cellphone. Why he still has one is beyond her, but she has yet to ask or comment on it. She assumes he’ll tell her his secrets as time comes on. “Are we ready to open the doors?”

 

“Yes, Father. I can oversee if you need to return to your office.”

 

“I knew there was a reason I keep you around,” the complement flatters the old woman, who offers him a smile. “Let’s open our doors.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The vigil lasted for three days. Flowers, photos, and letters were scattered all around the church. Come Sunday, Gertrude demanded the candles be removed for service, which jensen refused, stating that the vigil will be moved when he’s ready to move them. Despite his relationship with her souring, his with Gloria was growing. 

  
She was a kind older woman, and she seemed to have more sympathy for Augs than most in her field. With her short legs and poor eyesight she needed more help than most, and was always grateful when Jensen took her arm and brought her down from the pews to help her clean. They joked, they made progress, and better yet, they developed a bond. Jensen was fond of her, and it felt nice to finally have someone on his side who cared enough about him to keep him company. She even cleaned his office and left behind his clutter, much to Gertrude’s dismay. 

 

His nightly cigarettes were also a problem, she deemed, deciding that an addiction to nicotine was nearly as bad as drinking, which she also accused him off. “Not everyone is free of sin,” he would politely remind her, only for Gertrude to mutter on about how he needed to be an example. Jensen doesn’t have a rebuttal yet, but soon he’ll find a way to use her words against her.

 

Tonight was like any other night. Pritchard had left after taking the projector apart for storage and he was finally alone in the attic where he slept. It’s been a process to move his things to the stony old church, and now that it’s getting colder he’s going to have to worry about investing in a heater. His church was abandoned, after all. He still has work to do.

 

“ _ Jensen _ ,” a familiar accent fills his head as he takes a drag of his cigarette and flips through an old magazine for clerical clothing orders. “ _ The mission. You haven’t checked in in days. _ ”

 

“Ah, Miller,” jensen’s response is warm. “There haven’t been updates. Beyond Gertrude Cooper giving me shit for being augmented.”

 

“ _ That’s how the world is now _ ,” Miller has changed his tune a little since Jensen saved his life. There’s a lot of gratitude there, especially when it comes down to his other TF29 teammates. “ _ I’m sorry. Detroit seems to have it the worst with the gangs. Given how some people still don’t have clean water and are suffering...their animosity is understandable.” _

 

“A little. Yeah,” He can agree. 

 

“ _ Anyone recognize you? _ ”

 

“Not so far. Pritchard doesn’t seem happy you assigned him here with me.”

 

“ _ He’s only out of prison and with a job because of you. You would think he’d be thankful. _ ”

 

Jensen snorts. “He’s never thankful.”

 

Frank Pritchard’s alignment with TF29 is only due to Jensen’s influence and the hacker’s need to have a cause. Without one, he would assume the man would lose his marbles. At least now he has better access to whatever he needs, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy he’s stuck working with the man. Even still, Jensen missed him and missed having him on a team.

 

There’s been quiet on Jim’s end since Jensen’s thoughts started wandering, but the second Jim speaks again, he jerks back to life. 

 

“ _ Tell him to get over it. Good work, Jensen. Keep in touch _ ,” Jim’s voice is gone, and Jensen is once again left alone with his thoughts. 

 

_ \-- _

 

The morning comes with the sound of an alarm clock.The cool of the stone kept him from overheating overnight, and the smell of Gloria brewing his coffee has already wafted up from the kitchen to his room. He’s hungry, too, which is a surprise. It’s been so long since he’s craved breakfast. 

 

After a change and a shower, Jensen arrives downstairs. Gloria is busy with her own breakfast, giving him room to have his own. 

 

“You’re not...oh,” her gaze moves to Jensen, who seems to think that being casual on a weekday is something he can get away with. At least he’s modest in sweatpants and an old, torn up Phoenix University shirt. Gloria, on the other hand, is dressed to the nines immediately, as if her work day never ends and she just sleeps in her clerical gear. “Never up this early.”

 

“Am I too casual?” He might as well ask. 

 

“If Gertrude saw you...But this  _ is _ your home…” She doesn’t seem too bothered, which relaxes the Aug as he fishes through the fridge. The kitchenette is kept inside a tiny one bedroom apartment built into the back of the church. It serves more as an emergency housing and a small room for prayer as evident by the lack of furniture beyond a couch. “At least you didn’t walk in naked…”

 

“I’ve lived with women before. I have no interest is scarring either of you. Even if Gertrude deserves it.”

 

“You did? Sisters?”

 

Jensen finally finds a half open package of bacon. “Ex. She wasn’t into me being myself.”

 

“Oh...I had no idea you were…”

 

“Nothing like that,” he waves that off and drops a piece into the pan. “We separated years ago. I find it better if I don’t think about her. We ended things nasty.”

 

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s in the past. I know where my heart belongs now,” he accepts a cup of coffee handed to him as Gloria prepares her own. A slow morning to celebrate his first full week, he thinks, letting him finally relax. His cover seems to be in tact, and he has no reason to think anyone would bother him now. Not this early. 

 

“What are your plans?”

 

“Cleaning, probably,” he gestures to the ceiling. “There’s cobwebs everywhere still. I haven’t had time to clean them since the vigil was held. And somebody dumped one of the wax plates over the steps at the altar.”

 

“Well you are dedicated. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man of faith actually care, you know,” Gloria sips her coffee, then glances out the window. “I have prayer. Gertrude, bless her, will want to go grocery shopping. You won’t have to worry about her nagging.”

 

“Good. I’ll need the time alone,” Jensen frowns as he digs through the pantry. No cereal. How the hell has he lived here for three days and never bought cereal. Disappointed, he looks back at the bacon sizzling in the pan and casually adds a second. The oil pops, some cracking on his fingertips, and Gloria jumps out of reflex. Jensen merely wipes it off. Sensing her concern, he wiggles his now clean fingers. “I can feel heat if it’s hot enough. Sometimes the plastic and metal helps. The sensations are dull, but still there.”

 

“Oh...I didn’t know you people could still feel.”

 

“That hurts,” clearly not at all truly bothered by her slip, Jensen grabs a utensil and pokes his breakfast. “Whenever you need to leave you can, Sister. I don’t need a babysitter. I have work to do.”

 

“I didn’t...Yes. Alright,” rather than argue, she finishes with her own breakfast and moves on to do her own chores for the day. It’s not much longer before the priest himself, fake as he might be, is dressed and headed for the church. He can appreciate that the small building isn’t hard to navigate, but there is a definite struggle with remembering where the back rooms are when it comes to cleaning the apartment. 

 

The day passes rather quickly. Progress is made in restoring the old building, and Jensen even finds himself a little too pleased to just do something as mundane as culling cobwebs. Maybe it’s the fact that his life has been a complete mess for the past six years and mundane, boring things like chores are enough to keep him focused. As the evening drags on, he finds himself locked into the confessional booth for a smoke, not caring at all how much it might bother those still inside. It’s his church, after all.

 

“Bless me Father for I have sinned,” a sudden voice pulls Jensen out of his euphoric “me time”, only to stub his cigarette out on a wood panel with a irritated huff. Sure, he’s undercover, but that doesn’t mean he HAS to work, right? “It’s been...fuck. It’s been too long.”

 

The voice is unfamiliar. Jensen can’t see well through the grate, especially with how dark it is. There’s also the chance that if he attempts to adjust his eyes, the whirring might startle whoever is on the other side. Jensen tugs on his collar, cold metal hands making his skin twitch as he tries to figure out what to do. He really has to do this, doesn’t he?

 

“Uh,” there’s a million ways to start this conversation flashing in his head. “Go on.”

 

“Look, I ain’t much of a religious type,” Jensen quietly exhales. Good. His awkwardness seems to be saved only by a shiny divider that protects him from whoever is seated beside him. “But you gotta come once a year, right? So I gotta talk.”

 

The man rambles on. From the sound of it, he’s a genuinely troubled man with a failing marriage and a fear of losing his children. Jensen can’t relate, but he’s known enough divorcees in his time to understand how it might feel. His thoughts go to Miller, then to the emails between him and his ex husband that Jensen may or may not have casually read while breaking into his own boss’s apartment.

 

Actually, the thought of that makes him wonder if maybe he should be on the other side of this booth.

 

“Father?”

 

“Have you considered praying?” Jensen asks, trying to keep up with the last few minutes. 

 

“...No. Never. I just kinda...try…”

 

“That’s...that’s where you might be off, son,” ugh. He sounds like Sarif when he says it like that.  _ Son.  _ The thought of him makes him a bit bitter. If someone needed a confession, it was most certainly David Sarif. He considers what to say for a moment, before something from his research finally clicks. “I think, maybe, you should, with your wife, read a passage,” he fumbles about before finding the Book. He knew keeping one with him would help, especially considering TF29 had already labeled and tabbed a majority of it. “Ephesians five-Twenty-five. You’ll find the answers you’re looking for.”

 

Silence on the other side. If Jensen could see him, maybe he could get away with using C.A.S.I.E. Instead, he’s relying on his own intuition, something he hasn’t had to do in quite some time. It’s actually a little liberating. “She’s your partner. You two can make this work. Be ready to sacrifice what you need to for your children, too.”

 

“Yeah. Fuck. Uh, frick?” He’s trying, Jensen can give him that. “Maybe I got a li’l outta focus. Maybe I gotta cut the mistress, too.”

 

Well. That changes things. Jensen clears his throat, not expecting the last part. At least maybe he’ll try. That’s all he can hope for.

 

“Shall we pray?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Thankfully, after reciting the Act of Contrition and a promise of reconciliation, the man leaves Jensen alone to stew in his chair. Usually, undercover work means he can fight his way through a problem. Now, though, he feels like a glorified babysitter giving empty advice to strangers. Religion has never been something he cared deeply for, or truly believed in. Now here he is, giving sage advice like he knows what he’s doing.    
  


“I need to do more research,” the realization hits him hard and after a rub to his temples, Jensen exits the booth, making sure to bring his Word along.

 

It’s going to be a long night.


End file.
